Home alone on Black Friday ... and loving it

So it’s Black Friday—the day merchants’ ledgers run from red into black as Americans flood sale-sloppy stores for bargain prices on Christmas trappings.

Since I am not most Americans, I stay home on Black Friday. A bustling crowd in my kitchen for Thanksgiving dinner is one thing, but hustling through a crowd of strangers—perfect or otherwise—is quite another. It’s not for me. I’d rather settle into the sofa with a leftover-turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich and a good book.

Merchandizers do a fine job of telling me what I should buy for Christmas, as well as when and where I should buy it. But as my son says, Black Friday isn’t even in December, and Christmas shouldn’t begin until December.

I like that. Why rush things? Valentine’s Day will be here before we know it, and retailers will start reminding us by December 27.

However, my son obviously has not been the Christmas-gift-purchaser over the years, so he has no idea of what it means to spot that perfect something in March or September, and then hide it away for later. Which, of course, is why I don’t have to worry about Black Friday.

I also appreciate the fact that some people plan ahead for The World's Biggest Shopping Day and make it a fun outing with relatives or close friends.

But rebelling against the commercialization of Christmas is my way of occupying the season, and the current season is still Thanksgiving. I plan to stay home and be thankful on the day after I over-stuff myself on stuffed turkey.

Thank God for leftovers.

And a safe refuge of peace on Black Friday.

Peace Like a River

Thanks to my guest blogger last week, you know where I spend most mornings: trotting down the trail along the Arkansas River near our home.

The river is a seasonal host, rushing past in summer, swollen with snow melt and churning red or brown. But now it has laid itself down for autumn and whispers by, laughing only in the rocky shallows or at the bulwark of the bridges.

"We made it,” the waters declare. “We made it over the rocks. They didn't stop us. Praise the Lord!"

If I could truly decipher the voice of nature, would I hear it speak in such a way that praises its creator? What a beautiful declaration—one to which I should add my own voice. But that’s not what usually happens when I’m dashed against a boulder blocking my way.

If you doubt that nature praises Him, read Psalm 148. You can almost hear the water singing.

Maybe that’s the secret to the peace I find at the river—praising God in all things.

Even when I’m pressed against the rocks.

“The Lord answered Job out of the storm.”

Wouldn’t you rather hear from God in church, where it’s safe and dry and predictable? Or from your sofa while you’re relaxing after a long day.

How about when everything is going you way? Wouldn’t that be a great time to hear the voice of God?

I’ll admit there have been times like these when I heard the Lord speak to my heart. Those moments of the still small voice have filled me with comfort and hope.

But when God speaks to me out of the storm, there is no doubt about who’s doing the talking.

No other voice can reach me above the roar of the crashing waves. No one else can find me in the debris, or lift me from the fallen facades of my life.

No one else can calm the fear and bring peace.

He is bigger than the storm.

Window Watching

Elvis Presley once described television as a box with a window in it – a one-way window with people looking in but no one looking out.

He was right.

I have one of those windows in my living room, and another very similar window on my desk. In fact, I have many windows on my desk via a computer system of the same name that allows me to see more than one place at one time.

However, I prefer the window above my desk through which I can see a portion of the living world where greening hills cradle a glassy pond, and still-gold cottonwoods flame up from the valley floor like torches.

Sometimes I sit for long uninterrupted moments taking in the view, exploring from a distance the sheer rocky brow of a neighboring hillside, or the rippling breath of dawn as it brushes across the pond lighting the water and waking geese and ducks and egrets. It’s the constancy of life that draws my gaze outside, and it calms me during otherwise tedious hours of chasing black words across the white window of my computer screen. And it calms me immeasurably more than whatever happens to be on the television in the other room.

But the window that gives something in return, even more than the pastoral setting of our surroundings, is God’s word. When I look into that window I find out who I am and where I’m going. I see the one who loves me like no other can; I see a pathway ahead that, should I choose it, will take me into God’s very presence. And I find deeper peace than even the most beautiful of earthly settings can offer.

Not everyone has a breath-taking view out a picture window. Many do, yet they rarely take the time to drink it in. But everyone can get a copy of the Bible today, whether in print or online. This year, regardless of your situation, make the choice to look through the window of God’s word to find your way. Unlike the people on television, He is there looking back at you, waiting for you to join Him.